Humming along with Christmas music on the stereo. Standing in the kitchen making alfredo vegetables. Amazingly alone for a spell. Big kids working on school lessons, little ones off playing, baby down for a nap.
Sunlight reflects off the blinding white snow, spilling bright warmth onto the stained-concrete floors. The knife in my hand chops onion, brocolli, beans, in time to 'Carol of the Bells.' My heart feels peaceful, content; thoughts occupied with plans for the fun afternoon schedule with 10 year old Eliza.
The CD changes and I'm washed over with the lullaby-sweet, meloncholy voice of Leigh Nash from Sixpence None the Richer.
And I'm undone.
All alone. Now on the kitchen rug, knees up by my chin, crying, sobbing, hiccupping. I reach behind me into the rag drawer and pull out a purple-gingham scrap of soft cotton, press it to my face, muffling my silly, emotional sobs, sopping up tears and drippy nose. It smells of laundry soap and years-long nights of nursing little ones; a threadbare rag-cut bit of my old nursing gown.
Last Christmas that was the song.
Baby growing in my belly, lumbering elephantish thru the evenings of Advent, eager to welcome our little one. He arrived on January 24th, born right here at home, surrounded by brothers and sisters. Our last lullaby song. Our final baby, little 'Koda'...
Each time, praying, seeking, "what now, God? what is Your leading? Your timing?" And last year, pregnant with my 7th, the prayers floated around us, drifting into conversation, whispered against pillows, Kevin's arm under my neck, his hand tracing the flutter of tiny feet under my skin.
God spoke, with clarity as never before: "There will be no more big brothers."
It was a strange moment. Sorting laundry, tossing the cherished, handmade-by-my-sister, "I'm the big brother" shirt into a bin... He stopped me cold, tiny fabric-painted shirt in hand.
Oh. wow. Really Lord? Is that You?
Kinda obtuse. Not quite what I was expecting.
Does that mean what I think it means?
"There will be no more big brothers."
Okay...well...yes, then. I love You, Lord. I trust You. Let it be as You have said.
And He confirmed with Kevin, and clarified, and repeated, and made Himself abundantly clear. This one was a boy, and this one was the last. The last big brother. With finality, He spoke the closure of my womb. And how blessed I am, to have heard His thundering voice in the small, muted space of my own willful ears.
To know His will...yet, this agonizing, staggering sadness.
"...and I think of Mary in Bethlehem..."
Then Mary said to the angel, "How can this be, since I do not know a man?" And the angel answered and said to her..."For with God nothing will be impossible."
Then Mary said, "Behold, the maidservant of the Lord! Let it be to me according to your word." And the angel departed from her. -- Luke 1:34,37-38
So blessed with the hearing of God's will...and yet alone, terrifed at the reality of her impending, out-of-wedlock pregnancy.
I like to think hearing God's voice, getting a sense of His will, should be happy, exciting, awesome. Trying to walk in His plan should be easy and convenient...open doors all the way, right? But what if I'm obedient and it feels bad, or it's just hard, or things don't work out? What if I'm scared? sad? angry?
And having come in, the angel said to her, "Rejoice, highly favored one, the Lord is with you; blessed are you among women!" But when she saw him, she was troubled at his saying, and considered what manner of greeting this was. Then the angel said to her, "Do not be afraid, Mary..." -- Luke 1:28-30
Maybe it's okay to be troubled by His will. Even to admit it...out loud. Maybe that's when the Comforter can come whisper through the winter-stripped Aspen branches, "do not be afraid...shh, shh...it's okay...."
And now another day is gone. My last baby, my Koda-boy, has nursed and cuddled close; he sleeps curled on his tummy, tiny thumb between rosy lips, chubby feet tucked one beneath the other. His oldest brother, boy-man of my heart, my firstborn, brought him down from nap this afternoon. A tender, unspoken, 15-year-gap bond; with no other sibling is Nekoda more content. And how is it that already Caleb is the towering oak before me? Wasn't he just in my arms...just - yesterday?
Yes, Lord. I love You. I trust You. Let it be according to Your word.
